


Side Effects May Include

by hapakitsune



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/pseuds/hapakitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur rather unwisely tests out a compound of Yusuf's with interesting results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Side Effects May Include

Yusuf says, “I’ve been experimenting with a new compound.” His voice is loud in the quietness of the warehouse. Eames looks up from his file on the mark and arches his eyebrows. “It may help us with dream levels without running the same risks as before.”

Eames isn’t sure why Yusuf is still there. To be honest, he isn’t sure why he is still here. He rarely works with the same team more than once (Cobb and Arthur being the exception – but then, they are the best), but he finds the idea of trying to find work apart from them to be loathsome. He’s a decent enough extractor when he’s not being a forger, and besides, Saito is footing most of their bills. It’s not a bad set up.

Ariadne raises her eyebrows too, looking pleased. “So we could have three levels without sedation?”

“Well, no,” Yusuf hedges. “We’d still have to be sedated, but this compound should make it easier to wake up so we won’t run the same risks as last time.” He shakes the vial in his hand slightly. “Would anyone like to give it a try? It should have the same effect as caffeine.”

Eames immediately touches his nose. It’s childish of him, but he’s seen other experiments of Yusuf’s go a little funny (no deaths or permanent injuries – just _odd_ ) and he likes to hedge his bets. Ariadne sees him and follows suit. Arthur looks up a moment later and frowns.

“Seriously?” he asks them, long-suffering. Eames smirks at him, pleased, and Arthur sighs, holding out his hand to Yusuf. “Give it here.”

Yusuf, who is grinning slightly, hands over the vial. Arthur looks at it with a wry smile, and then downs it in one smooth motion. He makes a face, and then wrinkles his nose. Eames snorts and covers it up quickly with a faked sneeze.

They all watch Arthur expectantly. He sits very still for a moment, then says, “I feel a little strange?”

“More awake?” Yusuf asks hopefully.

Arthur shifts in his chair in a strangely familiar way. Eames watches him fidget, and realizes what’s happening. He’s seen that reaction enough to know it for what it is. Arthur’s _turned on_.

“No, not exactly,” Arthur says, and he runs a hand through his hair. He licks his lips and looks up to meet Eames’s eyes. “I feel –”

He pauses, nose twitching, then suddenly leaps to his feet, knocking over his chair in the process. They all jump, startled, and Eames starts to get to his feet, concerned. Arthur takes two quick strides towards Eames, grabs the front of his shirt, and yanks him forward into a bruising kiss. His lips are too warm and Eames can feel that Arthur is burning up, even through the layers of cloth between them. Ariadne lets out a shocked little yelp.

Eames’s eyes widen and his hands flutter uselessly around Arthur for a moment before he manages to collect himself and shove Arthur away. “Arthur, are you sure –”

“Shut up, Eames,” Arthur says breathlessly. He pushes Eames back down onto his chair and straddles him, yanking Eames's shirt out of his waistband. Eames makes a shocked noise, something he's sure he hasn't done since he lost his sense of shame (somewhere around the age of seventeen), and tries to push Arthur off.

"Um," Yusuf says from behind them, sounding surprised. "Should - oh, no. I didn't anticipate this side effect."

Ariadne coughs. It sounds like she's trying to conceal a laugh. "Maybe you should take Arthur back to his hotel," she suggests delicately. Arthur doesn't seem to hear them; he just ruts against Eames, his hard-on pressing into Eame’s thigh through the thin layers of their trousers. Eames tries desperately to think of things that are horribly unsexy – famine, his grocery list, Margaret Thatcher.

"You're probably right," Eames says, gingerly wrapping his hands around Arthur's (rather thin) waist and lifting him bodily off him. "Arthur, darling, I'm going to take you back to your hotel. You’re obviously not well."

"I wonder what I did wrong," Yusuf muses thoughtfully, looking at the vial in his hand. "I thought I had negated the aphrodisiac properties..."

Arthur says, "I don’t want to go back to my hotel, I want you to fuck me." His voice is just a little too loud and it carries through the warehouse. Ariadne finally loses the battle and actually fucking giggles.

"Can't you take him?" Eames asks Ariadne desperately. His self-control only goes so far.

Ariadne, still giggling, comes forward and starts to pry Arthur away from Eames. Arthur yanks the gun out of his waistband and presses it to her forehead without even blinking. Her eyes widen and she releases his arm, backing away slowly. Only when she's about four feet away does Arthur relax and put the gun away.

“It should wear off by tomorrow morning,” Yusuf volunteers helpfully. Arthur reaches down and gropes Eames through his trousers. Eames very nearly yelps. “I’ll have to do some tests. I didn’t realize there would be side effects this severe. Take him to the hotel, make him rest.” Yusuf turns back to his little laboratory, effectively ending the conversation.

"Goddammit," Eames mutters, discreetly adjusting himself while doing his best to keep Arthur at arm’s length. It looks like it's going to be a long night.

 

 

Eames shoves Arthur into the backseat of his rented car, just for added protection. At first it seems to be a good plan; Arthur shifts in the backseat, one hand rubbing at his groin, but that’s it. And then, just as Eames comes to a stop light, Arthur launches himself over into the passenger seat.

“What -!” shouts Eames, startled. Arthur smirks at him and unzips Eames’s trousers, sticking his hands down Eames’s pants. “Arthur, don’t you realize something is wrong?”

“Eames, why is this the one time you have to be _practical_?” complains Arthur, curling his fingers around Eames’s dick. Eames yelps and grabs Arthur’s arm.

“Not while I’m _driving_ , jesus!” He clutches onto the steering wheel as if it’s a life preserver and wonders what he did to deserve such (wonderful) torture.

Arthur rolls his eyes, but settles back against the seat with an expectant expression on his face. Eames groans and rubs a hand over his face.

Eames leaves the car in the hands of the valet and hustles Arthur through the lobby and into the elevator. Once in there, Eames firmly puts Arthur into one corner and sequesters himself in the other. Arthur crosses his arms, looking irritated.

“I was so sure you were attracted to me,” he says. Coming from anyone else, it could have sounded plaintive, even sad, but Arthur manages to make it sound accusatory. “I guess all of that flirting really was just you fucking around.”

“Arthur,” Eames says, “the fact that I am not allowing you to molest me while you’re _drugged_ has everything to do with you being drugged.”

Arthur digests this. “So you _are_ attracted to me?” he asks, a predatory gleam in his eye. He starts to move towards Eames. The elevator dings and the doors slide open.

“Thank Christ,” mutters Eames and he drags Arthur out by the arm. He neatly slides Arthur’s keycard from his pocket and opens the door. Arthur goes in eagerly, stripping off his jacket and waistcoat as he went. In a move that tells Eames just how far gone Arthur is, Arthur doesn’t even hang them up – just leaves them pooled on the ground.

Eames hesitates, then decides that, once he’s back to normal, Arthur will be irritated if Eames doesn’t pick them up. He leans down to snag them off the floor and Arthur, coming out of nowhere, settles his hands on Eames’s hips.

“Perfect,” he pronounces, running a hand along the curve of Eames’s ass. Eames jumps and turns around, backing away from Arthur. Arthur frowns, looking annoyed; it’s stupid how relieved Eames is to see that very familiar expression. “Eames, for someone who is supposedly attracted to me, you are not acting like you are attracted to me,” he chides.

“Arthur, you’re _drugged_ ,” Eames reiterates. “As much as I do want this – and believe me, Arthur, you have no idea how much I want this – I am not going to take advantage of you.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows, with that very distinct _I am impressed but with a dash of condescension_ look on his face. “That’s oddly sweet of you, Eames.”

“I know, utterly mad, isn’t it?” Eames thrusts his handful of clothes at Arthur and then ducks into the bathroom before the conversation can go any further. Once the door is securely locked behind him, he pulls out his phone and calls Yusuf.

“Yusuf,” comes the reply on the other end.

“Have you figured out how to make Arthur better yet?” demands Eames. “This is driving me utterly insane, Yusuf. He’s like a cat in heat and I’m a particularly attractive tom.”

“You are that,” Yusuf observes. “It is interesting that he fixated on you rather than Ariadne or myself, yes?”

“Not the point, Yusuf,” Eames reminds him. “Is this going to wear off?”

“It should run its course after an hour or so, from what I’ve determined,” Yusuf says. Eames lets out a deep sigh and collapses back against the bathroom counter. “Is it truly that terrible?”

“Imagine for a moment, Yusuf,” Eames says, “that there was a truly expensive bottle of champagne sitting next to you. You are able to drink it if you like. However, if you do, you know that there is something terrible waiting for you at the bottom.”

There is a pause on the other end. “That is a terrible analogy,” Yusuf announces finally, “but I see what you are driving at. Just wait it out.”

Eames hangs up a moment later. He sits in the bathroom for another minute before he notices the sounds from the actual hotel room. He frowns; it sounds like Arthur is _sighing_. Then, abruptly, he realizes what he’s hearing. Feeling very conflicted, he opens the bathroom door just the tiny bit to perhaps the most inspiring sight he’s ever seen in his life: Arthur, lying naked on his hotel bed with one hand on his cock and the other clutching at the bedspread.

Arthur’s eyes open and he meets Eames’s gaze steadily as he lifts his free hand to grab at a bottle of lube sitting on the bed next to him. Deliberately, Arthur deftly pops open the cap with one hand and slicks his fingers up before sliding his hand behind himself.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Eames says feelingly and he slams the door shut. He can’t shut out the noises, though. Arthur seems to have ramped them up now that he knows Eames is listening, and the moans and muttered curses (in about three different languages, Eames notes) increase in volume. “I’m in hell,” Eames realizes. “I’ve actually died and gone to hell.” He bangs his head against the door and waits for the noises to abate.

Eames cautiously opens the door after a couple minutes to see Arthur asleep on top of the comforter, his spent cock limp against him. Eames ducks back into the bathroom to grab a washcloth and returns to carefully clean Arthur off. He goes to the dresser and rifles through it until he finds a pair of sweat pants for Arthur to wear. He eases them onto Arthur, using all of his pickpocket skills to not rouse him.

Eames debates leaving, then grabs a free pillow from the bed before curling up on the (not long enough) sofa. He’ll wake when Arthur does.

 

 

In the morning, Eames wakes to the sound of Arthur saying, “What the fuck?” Eames sits up on the sofa and squints over at Arthur, who’s sitting up and bed and looking down at himself with a very confused expression on his face.

“Morning, darling,” Eames drawls. “I see you’ve recovered yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asks suspiciously. “How did we get here?” That seems to remind him of something, as he dives off the bed to grab for his jacket. He pulls his totem out and Eames politely looks away as Arthur rolls it. “So not a dream,” Arthur says after a moment. “Fine. That still doesn’t explain how I got here.”

“What do you remember?” Eames asks, standing up and stretching his arms above his head.

“The last thing I remember is Yusuf giving me that drug he was working on and…” Arthur trails off, his expression darkening further. “Did I kiss you?” He sounds utterly horrified by the prosepect.

Eames nods, trying not to be irritated by Arthur’s tone. “You repeatedly molested me, Arthur. I was shocked and scandalized.”

Arthur snorts. “You have never been scandalized a day in your life, Eames,” he accuses.

“You grabbed for my cock while I was _driving_ ,” Eames says flatly and is pettily pleased by the way Arthur’s eyes widen in shock.

“I apologize,” he says stiffly. “Clearly I was not in full control of myself.”

“ _Clearly_ ,” Eames echoes. “Not that I didn’t appreciate it.”

Arthur arches his eyebrows skeptically. “And yet you didn’t let me touch you.”

“When I do finally get you into my bed,” Eames says and Arthur’s mouth quirks up at the surety in Eames’s voice, “it will not be because you were dosed on some concoction Yusuf cooked up. It will be because you want to be there.”

“Eames,” Arthur says, a note of exasperation in his voice. “I didn’t pick you at random last night.”

Eames blinks, not sure how to deal with that piece of information. “You mean –”

“That I want to have sex with you? Yes.” Arthur smiles slowly, an expression Eames is not used to seeing on his face. “The offer is still on the table, if you want?”

Eames only hesitates for a moment before he shucks off his jacket and throws it to the floor. Arthur’s smile threatens to take over his entire face as he pushes the sweatpants off his thin hips. He strides forward, apparently completely unself-conscious in his nudity, and yanks Eames’s shirt over his head. He gives it a considering look, then throws it as far away from him as possible.

“I really need to take you shopping one of these days,” he announces before he’s leaning forward to seal his mouth to Eames’s, his hands smoothing along the muscles of Eames’s chest. Eames groans and reaches out to pull Arthur in by the waist. Arthur’s skin is smooth, warm, and Eames hesitates for only a moment before giving into the temptation to cup his hands around Arthur’s ass.

“The day you take me shopping,” Eames says as Arthur’s hands drift down to the fastenings of his trousers, “is the day that I am utterly in your thrall.”

“Like you aren’t already, darling,” Arthur says mockingly, turning the endearment back on Eames. He smiles to show he doesn’t mean it. Eames leans forward to bite at the side of Arthur’s neck in punishment. Arthur smacks Eames’s thigh and says, “Get up, these pants need to be off.”

“You are so right,” Eames breathes and he arches his hips up to let Arthur pull his trousers off. Arthur makes a face at Eames’s pants – “How did you even _find_ paisley briefs?” – before pulling those off too and climbing up to firmly plant himself in Eames’s lap.

Their cocks slide together and Eames lets out a truly embarrassing moan, his eyes sliding shut. Arthur runs the fingers of his left hand through Eames’s hair, his other hand wrapping around Eames’s cock.

“This is going to be over quickly unless we get to the bed,” Eames warns as Arthur rolls his hips in a particularly amazing way. He slides his own hand between their bodies to jerk Arthur off, gently rubbing his thumb along the thin skin.

“We’ll have time to take it slow later,” Arthur promises and he bites down on Eames’s collar as his hand moves faster on Eames’s cock. “This is more important.”

“Right,” Eames says, and he does a complicated twist of his wrist that has always garnered him many compliments. Arthur gasps and comes, spilling over Eames’s hand. Eames pushes up into Arthur’s hand, nearly dislodging Arthur from his lap, and comes too.

Arthur climbs off of him after a moment and says, “Shower?” He looks expectantly at Eames, who is feeling a bit like he wants to sink into fabric of the (now completely ruined) sofa and live there. But the offer of a wet, slippery Arthur is too much for Eames to resist, so he says, “Yes,” and gets up.

 

 

When they eventually make it back to the warehouse, Arthur keeps touching Eames casually, like it’s no big deal. Eames can see Yusuf and Ariadne getting more and more worried as the meeting goes on. Finally, Arthur presses a light kiss to the side of Eames’s head on his way to the coffee. Ariadne coughs nervously.

“Arthur,” she says delicately, “are you sure you’re all right?”

“I don’t understand,” moans Yusuf, who has been wide-eyed and panicked since Arthur rested his hand on Eames’s knee earlier. “It should have worn off by now!”

“Oh,” Arthur says carelessly, “it has.” He smirks at their surprised expressions and takes a sip of his coffee. Eames grins shamelessly at them, unabashedly pleased at how startled they both look.

“I know, you’re jealous,” he says smugly. “Don’t worry, I totally would be too.” He leans forward and says in a stage whisper, “It’s always the quiet ones, yeah?”

“I heard that,” Arthur points out, but he’s still smiling. Ariadne is bright red, her foot drumming on the floor in some kind of nervous tic, and Yusuf seems to be reconsidering his entire world view.

“It definitely wore off,” Yusuf says, taking a look at the blood sample that he had drawn from Arthur when they had arrived at t he warehouse. “So these feelings, they are genuine?”

Arthur pours another cup of coffee and wordlessly brings it over to Eames. Eames smiles brightly at Ariadne and Yusuf and takes a long sip in lieu of answering.


End file.
